


The Man Out of Time

by kingaofthewoods



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27939863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingaofthewoods/pseuds/kingaofthewoods
Summary: Daniel Sousa is continuously both less and more fazed by everything that's happening than anyone gives him credit for. The team from the future seems to have forgotten that he was one of the highest ranking officers in S.H.I.E.L.D. Time travel? Sure, it's confusing, but he'd once almost been sucked into a different dimension. Aliens? Yes, he's seen that blue corpse Peggy had retrieved from Hydra back in 1945. Super serum powers? Not like his ex-girlfriend used to date Captain America or anything.But sure, let's pretend he's afraid of electricity.It's not the first time he's been underestimated.In other words: the team's Final Mission through Agent Sousa's eyes, crammed with too many historical references that the author couldn't resist, the back story we were denied, goodbyes that were and were not said, a whirlwind superhero romance, unexpected friendships, and a love letter to Daniel Sousa's galaxy brain.
Relationships: Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie & Daniel Sousa, Rose Roberts & Daniel Sousa, Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 14
Kudos: 55





	The Man Out of Time

Twenty seven hours before he is cornered in the corridors of Hotel Roosevelt and life as he knows it is altered forever, Daniel Sousa leans heavily on his cane outside a bright blue house in suburban Los Angeles.

It's already been a long week, and it's only Thursday. He's been on tenterhooks since last Monday, waiting for something – anything – from the CIA in regards to his report, but he hasn't heard a peep from Foggy Bottom and he's beginning to worry. Of course, he tells himself every hour or so, these things take time, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is not exactly high up on the priority list right now. He couldn't have picked a more inconvenient moment to file in that report: everyone in the Intelligence community is busy over the Geneva Summit and Eisenhower's gamble with the Soviets. Who has time for a couple of sleeper agents in a barely established organization when the President is proposing to let the Communists fly their planes over American secret bases? Still, he expected at least a quick acknowledgement, a telegram or a call, anything to put his mind at ease.

Instead, he is left floundering. After months of meticulous research, countless extra hours spent poring over travel receipts, prisoner visitor logs, guard duty reports, and psych evaluations of numerous agents and scientists, this thing is finally out there, tangible and dangerous. With the report out of his hands, Daniel finds himself looking over his shoulder more than usual, an inexplicable sense of foreboding weighing him down and turning his thoughts dark.

To be honest, he is in no shape to attend family dinners – or barbecues, as it were, considering the smell of smoke wafting from the backyard - but he had already missed two dinners in a row, and he's going to miss another thanks to Malick sending him up to Nevada for the Helius test tomorrow. He can't really wiggle his way out of this.

The little package that he tried his best to wrap before leaving his office almost falls from under his arm as he passes a six-pack of beer to the hand holding the cane. He fumbles with it for a moment, heaves a sigh of relief when it doesn't fall, and finally raises his free hand to knock and announce his presence, when the door opens on its own.

“Uncle Chief!” A little red-headed boy barrels into Daniel's legs, almost knocking him down the porch stairs.

“Easy, there, sport.” The beer bottles clink against each other, but do not fall.

“You're here!”

Daniel regains his balance and passes his free hand through the boy's hair, mussing up his perfect little side part. The boy squirms away, grumbling.

“No, you'll ruin it!”

“Here, Frankie, I got you a little something to make up for it,” Daniel laughs, passing him the package. Frank's huge blue eyes spark with interest as he grabs the box, giving it a shake.

“What is it?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Daniel, is that you?”

Rose emerges from the kitchen, looking exasperated. She's wearing a checkered apron over her dress and her glasses are fogged up. She takes one look at the two of them standing on the doorstep and sighs. “You're early again, Chief! And what's that? What did I say about spoiling him?”

Frank presses his present to his chest and scurries down the hall, giggling. Rose rolls her eyes and waves Daniel in.

“Sorry,” he says, not feeling sorry at all. “I saw it at the store and couldn't help myself.”

“What is it? Another truck?”

“What else?”

On his fifth birthday three months ago, Frank's father took him to see his trucking company, and Frank has been obsessed with all sorts of large vehicles ever since, much to George's delight, and Daniel's wry amusement.

Daniel is self-aware enough to know that the little tyke is his proxy for a family life he will never have. He has greatly enjoyed being the cool, heroic “uncle Chief”, and he has ribbed George over Frankie's tendency to hero-worship him many a time. Now that the tables have turned, he is not above petty bribery to restore his position. It seems to be working pretty well so far.

“Well, if you're early, you can help George set up the grill. I still need to finish the sauce.”

“So we're having barbecue today?”

Rose rolls her eyes. “Apparently it's a Godsend you had to reschedule for today, because the forecast predicts heavy rainfall for tomorrow night.”

Daniel's thigh twinges in recognition. The pain in his stump has been playing up all day with no apparent cause, so he can be reasonably certain the weather is going to turn for the worse pretty soon. He resists the urge to rub at the muscle and walks with Rose to the kitchen, then eyes the heaps of meat waiting on the counter with some dread. “We expecting anyone special tonight?”

Rose snorts. “Don't worry, it's just us today. No unexpected company this week.”

“Good to know.”

That means Rose's sister-in-law won't be bringing any “friends” with her. He really isn't in the mood for awkward small talk, and everyone's less than subtle attempts at playing him up as great husband material.

“Don't look so relieved, Chief.”

Daniel gives her a pointed stare and Rose laughs. He shakes his head at her. “I'm not up for your shenanigans today.”

She grows serious. “Still nothing?”

“Still nothing.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Me too, Rose, but I couldn't sit on it any longer, this needs to be taken care of yesterday.”

“I still feel like we should tell Peggy...”

Daniel sighs. He knows he should be over this, and mostly he is, but sometimes it just hits him like a freight train, still. He hasn't properly absorbed this newest tidbit of information, that's all.

“Rose, we've talked about this. You said she told you the pregnancy is hard on her. This is the last thing she needs right now.”

He congratulates himself on not visibly faltering at “pregnancy”, as he used to do at “husband” back in 1950. God, it's been so many years already, he shouldn't need to celebrate small victories like this anymore.

“Daniel, it doesn't mean that she's an invalid - “

“Uncle Chief!” Frankie shrieks as he runs into the kitchen, and Daniel can't be more grateful for the interruption, even if it earns him a surprise hug and a blow to his bum leg from a metal toy truck. “Thank you for the truck, it's super!”

“You're welcome, kid,” he winces and gives the boy a pat on the shoulder. “Now go and show it to your Dad, why don't you?”

“Sure will!”

Frankie beams up at him, blue eyes shining, and hurries out the back door, yelling for his Dad. Daniel gives in and rubs at his thigh.

“Do you regret spoiling him now?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Never. Anyway, better help George with the grill - “

“Don't think you're getting out of this so easily. This is her organization, don't you think she needs to know?”

Daniel groans under her glare. “She's on maternity leave, for heaven's sake! Even Peggy Carter needs a break once in a while. It's just a couple of moles on the fringes, don't you think I can take care of it myself? I am Security Chief for a reason, you know.”

“What if it's not? What if it's the SSR all over again? What if we end up having to tip toe around this for years to come? I don't think changing the name will work this time.”

“We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. If by the end of next week I don't hear anything from the CIA, we'll regroup and reconsider.”

“We need to make contingency plans before that, Daniel!” Rose insists, pressing a hand to his forearm.

He sighs, putting the beer next to the meat on the counter and placing his hand over hers. “Fine. I'll come by on Saturday, once I've recovered from Nevada, and we'll go over it again, all right?”

Judging from her face, she is at least a bit molliffied. Daniel counts it as a win.

“Hey, Danny! Early, as always!” A burly, jovial man, and the reason for Frank's electric blue eyes, pops his head into the kitchen from the backyard. “Excellent choice on the truck. 1930 Ford Model AA? Classic.”

“Thanks, George, I try,” he says, and steps back. Rose's hand drops from his arm, her face a perfect neutral mask.

George eyes them for a beat, but then continues. “I see you've brought the beer, thanks. Come out here, I need to pick your brain.”

“I'll be right there, just need to finish shop talk with your wife. Keep the fire going.”

George shrugs, used to the secrecy that sometimes permeates their interactions. “Don't keep me waiting!”

He disappears back outside with a wave and Rose groans.

“Don't encourage him,” she whispers furiously. “He heard that McLean is planning to start a container business off of East Coast and he wants his own T2-Tanker. He thinks you can help him get one.”

“How on earth would I get him a tanker?” Daniel asks, incredulous. “I'm S.H.I.E.L.D., not the US Navy.”

“He still thinks we're all wizards, the doofus. Apparently, containers are 'the future of the industry'. I keep telling him we haven't got the money to buy a damn tanker, much less to build an entire container infrastructure. I mean, how would you even unload the things in a foreign port? Impossible.”

Rose's husband is a self-proclaimed visionary of the transport industry. Self-proclaimed, because while his trucking company is certainly thriving, he is no Howard Stark. He is, however, a good man, and Rose finds his grand ideas charming, so Daniel usually indulges him. Rose met him at a surfing class back in 1947, not long after Thompson was shot. Daniel and Peggy attended their wedding about a year later, after the sucessful take down of the Council of Nine, but before Peggy's promotion. Samberly, bless his annoying soul, had been inconsolable for ages. Daniel couldn't find it in himself to feel bad for him at the time, but soon life forced him to reevaluate.

Rose started inviting him out for family dinners about half a year after Peggy left to head the Washington SSR branch in late 1948. Daniel suspected that Peggy put her up to it, that the two of them were conspiring behind his back, trying to soften the blow. It was around then when it became apparent that the three-hour time difference was insurmountable for Peggy, and that overseeing the construction of the Playground was far more important than trying to maintain a long-distance relationship. Daniel is still grateful for the intervention; he is sure he only survived the second half of 1949 thanks to Rose's pies and George's neverending prattle about minute improvements in transport logistics.

“Well, I'll do my best to dissuade him,” he promises.

“Please do.”

Before he can head off to have his ear talked off, Rose grabs him by the arm again.

“And please, be careful,” she implores.

“Always am,” he smiles, and ignores her disbelieving look.

He finds Frankie zooming around the backyard, the truck held high above his head. “Look, it's flying, like Howard Stark's cars!”

“It sure is!” George hollers from next to the family grill. Frankie shrieks again and runs off towards the fence. “If only they could do that in real life, I would be a rich man,” George grumbles under his breath, much to Daniel's amusement. George has met Stark. To say that he's not a fan is a understatement, and it's not only because Howard had shamelessly flirted with Rose while she was introducing George as her new husband.

Daniel sinks into a garden chair and sighs in relief. God, he hopes he can squeeze in a hot bath before bed tonight. Otherwise, tomorrow will be unbearable.

“What can I help you with, George?”

George putters around with the coals a bit, making sure the embers are evenly spread out, then sighs.

“Look,” he starts in a tone much more serious than Daniel expected of this conversation. “I know it's none of my business, and you're buried in state secrets up to your eyeballs, but I need some peace of mind. The missus has been nervous lately. Anything I should be worried about?”

Daniel's first instinct is to laugh it off, but something gives him pause. George's shoulders are tense in genuine concern. A swell of guilt passes through him. He knows he shouldn't have involved Rose at all, but she is the head of the HR department for S.H.I.E.L.D. West Coast, so he wouldn't have been able to go around her in his digging. Also, if he's being perfectly honest, he didn't want to be alone with this, and after all these years he knows he can trust her with anything. Still, the potential danger is high.

He considers carefully before replying.

“We're in a bit of a pickle, but nothing we can't handle,” he says eventually, watching Frankie play at the other end of the yard. “Don't worry, everything will be fine.”

Perhaps if he says it enough times, he will believe it himself.

George is silent for moment, then decides to trust him. “All right then. Say, I was thinking, do you have any contacts in the Navy, by any chance?”

“What, so that you can conquer the world with metal boxes?” he ribs, glad that the other matter is settled between them.

“Hey, it's a sound scheme! Think of how much money and space you could save if you could stack cargo in neat little containers, one on top of the other... Could turn me into a millionaire.”

“How do you know of this guy off of East Coast, anyway? Haven't seen anything in the papers about it.”

George taps a finger to his nose. “You have your secrets, and I have mine.”

Daniel scoffs. “Corporate espionage, really?”

“You know, I still don't understand how a square shooter like you became a super spy. You think I don't have my feelers all over the country? Please.”

“Just don't get caught,” he laughs.

“What's the point of having a best friend high up in a shady alphabet agency if he can't get me out of some trouble?”

“And you just said I was a square shooter!”

“You always loosen up when it counts, Sousa.” George claps him hard on the shoulder. “Now hand me the grate.”

For the next two hours, Daniel enjoys himself, pushing the report and the trip to Nevada to the back of his mind. Eventually, George stops whining about the tanker, mollified by the suggestion to invest in McLean's scheme instead of diving off the deep end with his own company. George's sister and her husband join them, thankfully without a special guest to “even the numbers”, and they eat steaks and drink beers in the backyard, talking and watching Frankie and his younger cousins goof around until bedtime. Soon enough, despite the growing pain in his leg, Daniel is glad to have come, and sad to leave when the sun starts coming down.

Still, he has an early flight to catch in the morning, and he has to take care of himself if he wants to survive the train ride back to Los Angeles. When George and his brother-in-law start an impassioned discussion of the Geneva Summit and whether the Russians will consent to planes flying over their secret bases in exchange for the same thing over American soil, he decides it's time to leave. He'll have enough of political talk to suffer through tomorrow as it is.

He ruffles Frankie's hair one last time and makes his way to the front door.

“You better drag yourself in here first thing on Saturday,” Rose says while handing him his hat.

“All right, all right. I'll be there.”

“Stay safe, Chief.”

“You too.” He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “Will you make the rhubarb pie?”

“You bet.”

She stays on the porch and watches him drive off, her red hair catching fire in the setting sun that glints in his rearview mirror.

Twenty four hours later it will become apparent that he won't get to enjoy her rhubarb pie on Saturday. Or ever again.

For now, he drives away, content in his ignorance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a work in progress. I have two more chapters written, but not much beyond that. Still, I can't keep sitting on this, because otherwise I will probably never finish it. External accountability is my jam. 
> 
> What you can expect: extreme levels of navel gazing for our beloved man out of time, too many side characters, too much time trying to follow Sousa's brain making bizarre connections, and me having way too much fun discovering the 1950s references he could possibly make while being confronted with the nonsensical life of a SHIELD agent.
> 
> If you want to chat with me, I'm over on tumblr under kingaofthewoods. 
> 
> **Historical notes:**
> 
> [Geneva Summit](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geneva_Summit_\(1955\)) \- The Cold War meeting of world leaders that conveniently happened just as our rag tag team of time travellers stumbled onto Area 51 (18 - 24 July 1955). Seeing as one of the topics discussed was aerial surveillance, I couldn't help but grab it and run with it to explain away the point of the Helius test.
> 
> [Malcolm McLean and the history of containerization](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malcom_McLean) \- what can I say. I like the idea of containerization changing the world, couldn't resist throwing it in here.


End file.
